


polarize

by meganekun



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crying, Epiphanies, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Kyoutani is a puppy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8748976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganekun/pseuds/meganekun
Summary: (v.) – to cause something, especially something that contains different people or opinions, to divide into two completely opposing groups  
or the story of Kyoutani and Yahaba throughout confrontations after the match against Karasuno and their third year – with a culmination that neither would have expected not so long ago.





	1. side a

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  oh lo and behold, i have finally posted a Kyouhaba (if you don't count the watakyouhaba fluff)  
> this is a three parts type of deal, but each of them is technically a standalone, with my favorite being the second one.  
>   
>  **side a** is a pre-slash prequel which takes place, as mentioned in the summary, after the match against karasuno in their second year. **side b** will be up on kyou's birthday in three days!!

 

 

"It’s not your fault, you know."

If there are some things Yahaba is sure of at this moment, it is most definitely not the reason for why he follows Kyoutani to the restroom right after their loss against Karasuno.

Yahaba has always been more of a person to listen to his head than his heart or gut, especially when it comes to handling their team’s wild card – which, unfortunately, he is tasked with a lot – but this time he just doesn’t hold himself back, perhaps doesn’t have the energy to. He is exhausted from the emotional turmoil going on inside of him, of watching, thinking – he might want to do something reckless for once.

But Kyoutani doesn’t respond. In the slit between the door and the floor, his sneakers are visible, feet touching the polished tiles with the tips of his toes, bouncing up and down just slightly. He doesn’t bother putting his feet up so that no one will see him, Yahaba notes. He never bothers hiding anything.

"Did you hear me?"

A moment passes where Kyoutani lets out a slow, quiet exhale, and finally speaks.

"Shut up."

Now that’s nothing new. Yahaba rolls his eyes and steps closer to the stall.

"Nope. I came here to tell you that us losing is not because of you. Not because of anybody, actually. I don’t know how many of Oikawa’s speeches you got to listen to, with you skipping and all–"

"And I’m telling you, you need to shut up."

Kyoutani’s voice sounds oddly croaky, as if his throat were sore. To undermine that, he starts coughing, the noise echoing across the toilets, but just before he stops, something similar to a sob weaves its way into it. Yahaba sighs, steeling his resolve, but doesn’t even hesitate to tell himself he’s imagining things.

"Well, I’m not going to. I’m not going to let this team fall apart, not if I can help it. You’re going to stick with us through this with the minimal amount of guilt, come to training and help us build a team for next year, one the senpai can be proud of when they will come to watch us play, you hear me?"

Perhaps Yahaba ought to have thought this through, because he’s always been one to tear up at words rather than images or videos, and his own words overwhelm him with how deep from his heart he’s reaching to talk Kyoutani out of it, how he realizes it might take him a long time to get over this, but how badly he wants to start anew, too.

And so he loses himself in the scenarios, even forgetting for a moment the responsibility that will be thrust upon him in those.

"You’re gonna be there for all of it, you better. We will still be Seijoh, but even stronger and we will lead this team to victory, it’s inevitable. We’re gonna have so much support – I mean, have you heard the cheerleaders screaming your name?" Yahaba sniffles, rubs his eyes, pushing unshed tears back, but he’s smiling – he’s proud and jealous and something else all at once.

"They love you," he murmurs, so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear nor see the lock being turned and the door knob pushed down. Not before the door almost smacks him straight in the face and he is confronted with the sight of Kyoutani Kentarou sitting on the closed toilet with his head resting on his knees, facedown, his back crouched and – shaking. His hands are pressed against the sides of his jaw, long fingers intertwined upon the black stripe in his hair and nails, in contrast, starkly white from the pressure. And the closer Yahaba steps into the stall, the clearer he can hear Kyoutani’s uneven breathing, with a few whimpers that manage to make it out through his clenched teeth, the gesture made even more feral with his sharp canine teeth biting into his lower lip – to stop it from shaking, presumably. He lifts his face abruptly, hands falling down and forming fists.

And a tear slides down Yahaba’s cheek as a gaze from under wet, stuck together eye lashes that frame bloodshot eyes meets his.

"God, you never shut up, do you?!"

 

Kyoutani’s voice breaks.

"I– I’m sorry, I didn’t–" Yahaba lets out shakily in an instant, his eyes wide with emotions he doesn’t bother putting names to, but he knows he has crossed the line this time.

This is not a club member snapping because of a bad first impression, not a setter annoyed at an out-of-sync combination, not a second year upset at bad team cooperation, not a teammate mad at a comeback after a year of absence, not a kouhai threatening a potential embarrassment for their senpai. This is Yahaba Shigeru walking in on Kyoutani Kentarou, barely an acquaintance and most definitely not someone who trusts him with anything, bawling his eyes out after a lost game.

And regarding the multiple wet tracks all over his face, it’s not hard to tell that that’s exactly what it is – not a few squeezed out tears out of obligation, but deep, deep sadness and regret. Especially the regret part of it Yahaba reads in Kyoutani’s eyes clearly, despite the slightly smudged coal of his eyeliner, what with his small eyebrows raised and furrowed in a vulnerable manner.

With that thought, Yahaba reminds himself to stop staring, because that’s the kind of situation this is – a vulnerable one, one he needs to tread carefully, just like how he was handling it through the door when he was convinced Kyoutani was just angry as usual and needed a talking down, though now he’s not sure what he needs anymore _at all._

"I didn’t mean to… disturb you. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t–"

"What, run off and destroy your picture-perfect plan for our team next year? Don’t have to worry about that. And even if you did, ‘m sure you’d find another wing spiker who’d fit it better," Kyoutani grits out, his eyes narrowing in what Yahaba at first thinks is anger, but then decides is either an attempt to hide the redness from crying or to be able to see through the glaze of more tears better.

What Yahaba also decides is that Kyoutani constantly interrupting him with his stupid-ass assumptions is _really_ annoying, but he’ll hold off voicing or acting on that thought for now out of the goodness of his heart. For the most part, that is.

"If you would have kindly let me finish, I would have been able to tell you, once again, that I came to make sure you didn’t drown in your guilt all by yourself. Losses can be tough on people and nobody should have to go through them alone. Not if they don’t want to." Yahaba finishes his explanation quietly, giving the blond in front of him a meaningful look – _this is your way out, your perfect time to tell me to stop trying outside of what’s necessary and get_ the hell _out._

Kyoutani either doesn’t notice, or consciously doesn’t take it. He looks down, swallows and clears his throat to get his voice steadier.

"I’m alright. For checking up on me, um…" – Yahaba can’t help the smug grin stretching his lips in anticipation for the next words – "… thank you."

The two words leave Kyoutani’s lips surprisingly smoothly, practiced, and Yahaba’s grin dissolves into a small, polite smile, as he notices the almost-lack of embarrassment on the other’s face. Well, as much as he likes teasing Kyoutani, he supposes, this isn’t really an appropriate time for it.

"It’s what teammates do," Yahaba replies, raising his chin in his typically fake cocky manner, playing it off as if he would have done it for anyone else in an instant. Perhaps it makes it different, knowing that his senpai have each other and Kindaichi, whom along with Watari he hangs out the most, has Kunimi’s shoulder to cry on – they’ve known each other since middle school, surely their friendship has experience with such events – and while Watari has expressed that he doesn’t have any particularly negative feelings towards him, Kyoutani doesn’t have the kind of bond with anyone on the team that would allow him to comfort and be comforted in return. Perhaps it doesn’t.

"Sure thing, dipshit," Kyoutani fires back, a quiet scoff escaping his scowl and making Yahaba’s bangs flutter. Only then does he realize how close they are – during the genuine part of their conversation Yahaba must have taken another few steps into Kyoutani’s space, while Kyoutani has straightened his back and tipped his head up as to not seem much smaller than Yahaba, at the failure of which the latter can’t help but smile.

A moment passes, then two, most of which Yahaba spends trying not to look at the teardrop hanging at the side of Kyoutani’s slim nose, almost sliding onto his upper lip and keep a, hopefully, encouraging face expression with a shot of challenge at the banter. When did it become less fighting and more banter, anyway? When did Yahaba decide he doesn’t mind Kyoutani’s proximity (like this)?

And can Kyoutani please break this ridiculous staring contest first because, quite frankly, Yahaba’s eyes are burning, he needs to blink as soon as possible, goddammit.

"You can get out now," Kyoutani says, finally, making Yahaba sigh inaudibly in relief. Not that he would have minded staying a bit longer that much, but the silence _was_ starting to fill with tenseness – there are only so many topics one can talk about with somebody they used to consider their biggest enemy that don’t require yelling, after all.

Yahaba raises an eyebrow – _you sure you’ll be fine?_ – and Kyoutani’s scowl deepens – _yes, shithead_ – but it doesn’t look very mean or off-fending, more like a somewhat neutral pout, actually.

And so Yahaba clears his throat, shakes his head to get his bangs out of his vision, nods and takes a step back to close the toilet stall door from the outside, as he takes his leave.

He doesn’t miss Kyoutani nodding back.


	2. side b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > And what’s even more unnerving is the fact that ever since the first training session back in April, he’s been not only insisting on walking home with Yahaba – despite the fact that they’d never even held a proper conversation prior to that, making the walks, well, a little awkward – but eventually… offering him things.
>>
>>> **Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  this chapter was prompted by _"I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me."_ happy birthday, kyou, i do believe the bit of pining i put you through was worth it.  
>   
>  **side b: bonus** , a peek into kyoutani and yahaba's relationship in their third year, will be up this weekend!

 

 

 

"Good job today, team! See you all on Saturday for morning practice," Yahaba exclaims, waving to the first years with a friendly smile. A quiet echo of "Thank you, captain", followed by their departure to the locker room enables the brunet to take a few steps back and nonchalantly lean against the wall, one foot up against it, arms crossed.

To anyone who didn’t know him well, it might seem that nothing changed, but the subtle exhale and infinitesimal slump in Yahaba’s shoulders indicates what his fellow third years and the two second years, Kindaichi – Yahaba’s self-proclaimed salt buddy – and Kunimi have been able to observe ever since the new school year began a month or so ago.

Yahaba is busting his ass to be a good captain, a good senpai – to lead the new Aoba Johsai team to victory and glory – and it’s taking his toll.

Nobody is particularly worried so far, though: there are no Oikawa-like signs of overworking to be seen yet, only the stress of leadership. Nobody doubts that Yahaba is the only one of them to be able to tackle this stress best, either.

" _You_ did a good job today, Shigeru-san," Watari materializes seemingly out of nowhere to clap Yahaba’s shoulder, his tone teasing, though words not any less genuine.

"Same to you, Shinji-kun," Yahaba returns with a tired grin. "You want the keys for tomorrow?"

"Hell no. You can count on me to be on time, but earlier than necessary on a Saturday morning? Sorry, I’ll pass," Watari laughs. Yahaba rolls his eyes, but lets out a chuckle, as well.

They bid goodbye to Kindaichi and Kunimi – _Have you ever, like, not seen them walk home together? It’s crazy,_ Watari whispers – and Yahaba would usually jump on the opportunity to tell him about the last time Kindaichi and he hung out, flipping through Yahaba’s sister’s magazines, and Kindaichi let it slip that he would probably cut off his leg to see Kunimi in one of these outfits, which is quite the piece of gossip, but he can’t seem to bring his tongue to move at all, so he only makes a noise of agreement and jerks his head to the locker room.

Watari picks up on his exhaustion and doesn’t make any more attempts to build conversation, letting Yahaba get dressed in his street clothes in silence that is only broken by a lone first year bowing and wishing the third years a good day.

"You, too," a gruff voice resounds from the corner of the room, and on any other day, Yahaba’s– _something_ would probably twitch in surprise or mild horror. His guard is down, though, and so he doesn’t pay it any attention.

Watari’s phone rings with an incoming message, and after announcing that he should hurry to his father’s – which is in the very opposite direction of Yahaba’s house –, bids goodbye and leaves.

The only one that’s left is—wait, Yahaba doesn’t care. Training is over, and today will not be the day he’s going to put effort into trying to get along with Kyoutani any more than necessary. Eventually, he will, he knows he has to, but he’s dead tired today, too tired to pretend to hide his frustration or any other feelings that are bound to surface when exposed to Kyoutani for a longer amount of time, so he’d rather not at all.

"You fall asleep, Captain?"

Yahaba was actually full well ready to, but Kyoutani’s voice brings him back to consciousness.

"I’m good," Yahaba murmurs, and the little bit of annoyance he can muster seeps into his voice.

"Come on, then," Kyoutani says, "I’ll buy you an energy drink or something." And throws his Seijou jacket over the shoulders in a quick, aggressive almost motion, as if he were preparing himself for a fight.

 _Is that what this is?_ Yahaba wonders, and hates that even when he’s this fatigued, as long as it comes to Kyoutani, his mind never stops going in circles.

"What," he says out loud, bundling all the questions that pop up in response, primarily _What the hell would I need an energy drink for at this time._

Kyoutani rolls his eyes. "I doubt you’ll go to bed before doing all of your homework."

Yahaba, now fully dressed and busy tying his shoes, looks up at the other third year. "It’s Friday," he retorts drily.

"Does that matter?"

Yahaba lowers his head, tugging on the picture-perfect knots on his high-top sneakers, and grits his teeth. He hates that Kyoutani is right, even though he knows for a fact neither he nor anybody he actually talks about his plans for the day to ever told him; it’s unnerving.

 _Kyoutani_ is unnerving.

And what’s even more unnerving is the fact that ever since the first training session back in April, he’s been not only insisting on walking home with Yahaba – despite the fact that they’d never even held a proper conversation prior to that, making the walks, well, a little awkward – but eventually… offering him things.

Things like food from the grocery store that’s located in the direction of Watari’s father’s house, drinks from the shop around the corner, homework for classes they share – of which there are not many, but some of the classes they take cover similar topics – or even favors, like taking the key for morning practices, something that not even Watari likes to do for him, even though he’s immensely nice and has expressed his fondness and support of Yahaba several times.

If it wasn’t so out of character for Kyoutani, the guy who refused to listen to anyone but the person whose position he was interested in, to hold back any unfriendly, borderline mean complaints, to react to gestures of kindness in an even remotely appropriately polite way, the guy who only knows isolation and flashing canines at anyone who dares come too close; the guy who seems more animal than human at times, Yahaba would almost…

Almost say that it _is_ in character.

Because even though all of these atrocious, poor qualities are a part of Kyoutani, it is, as much as Yahaba hates to admit it to others, not all he’s made up of.

Or, rather, all of his bad aspects come with another side, not one you can call positive with guarantee, but one you can work on so that you can _use_ it for _good_. Kyoutani Kentarou is a wild card, an element of surprise, revitalizing and refreshing, if brought out at the right time.

Yahaba snorts quietly at his internal choice of words, remembering Oikawa and the nickname he’d given Karasuno’s reserve setter.

Kyoutani is most definitely nothing like him.

_Crack!_

"What the hell?!" Yahaba yells, jumping up in shock, almost dropping his phone that he was going to tuck into his bag.

Kyoutani raises his hands in surrender and puts them away, into his pockets; that is if he had any. Instead he slides his hands under the seam of his loose pants, thumbs peeking out, and stands patiently, waiting for Yahaba to finally be done.

Once he is, they share a look, Yahaba expecting Kyoutani to walk ahead. Kyoutani quickly stops meeting Yahaba’s eyes, staring on a spot above his shoulder, but doesn’t move, until Yahaba sighs and makes his way out of the locker room.

Kyoutani is the dictionary definition of stubborn, except he can’t figure out what it is that’s driving him to be stubborn about _this_.

"We stopping by anywhere?" Kyoutani asks, five minutes into the quiet walk. For some reason, Yahaba doesn’t deem it so awkward this time.

"Not unless _you_ want something," Yahaba snaps, shrugging his shoulders, and breathes in the cool spring evening air deep.

He’s never said yes to any of Kyoutani’s offers before – excluding the walking together, but Kyoutani never vocally asked him for permission for that. Every time he began to get angry, though – not frustrated or annoyed, but seriously angry – Kyoutani would look at him in this certain way, face open, eyebrows still furrowed together as usual, but rather pointing up questioningly, shoulders rising, as if protecting himself.

Despite this having occurred several times, Yahaba still won’t associate this—not quite vulnerable, Kyoutani isn’t insecure enough for that – but this expression that speaks so clearly for defenses being let down with the way Kyoutani behaves in general. Almost as if the control that Yahaba always feels being robbed of when he’s around Kyoutani is being returned to him, and twice as much of it.

The first time, Yahaba had a thought. _This is something I can use against him_ , he mused. For whatever reason, this newfound routine is important to Kyoutani, so important that he’d allow Yahaba to be in charge, for once, and isn’t that what he always wanted, even before being appointed captain?

Back when, during the scarce times Kyoutani would show up to training, Oikawa would pair them up and try to form a combination, and Kyoutani would hiss _His tosses aren’t good enough_ , and Yahaba would croak, digging his nails into his palms, that it’s _You who isn’t good enough_ , and they’d scream at each other long past any attempts from their senpai to separate them, because, of course, Kyoutani wouldn’t listen to them either. The selfish brat, bare of any sense of responsibility or loyalty. Yahaba’s tosses to him only got worse after that.

It’s getting a whole lot better now.

Yahaba realizes that _the look_ is back, with Kyoutani’s steps slowing, as if giving him an out. This isn’t the first time, and this isn’t first or even second year. He wouldn’t go as far as say that they’ve grown up or matured in any particularly enormous way, but the progress is noticeable. Could it even be thanks to Kyoutani’s attempts to walk home with him? Could it be that, piece by piece, the bricks Yahaba has placed in an impenetrable wall time after time of Kyoutani being insufferable to him or his senpai, are being broken through, allowing them to work better with no barrier in-between?

Could it be that, while Yahaba has been wasting time contemplating and pondering over all the possible ways he can mender the relationship to his team’s ace, but always postponing it, Kyoutani was putting in an active effort to get along with him? Could it be that the team’s well-being is actually that important to him?

Yahaba looks at the dyed blond semi-curls, black roots shining through for how much he’s let them grow, and feels utterly guilty. He reaches for Kyoutani’s elbow to pull him along, to assure him that he’s not mad, not even annoyed anymore—

Yahaba watches, wide-eyed, as Kyoutani jerks back.

 _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say. _Sorry I’ve been so blind, as insufferable as I always took you to be_ , _actually, sorry I’ve trampled all over you trying to be what I asked you to and then treating you the same_.

A second passes, when they simply stand there and look at each other, Kyoutani’s eyes just as wide as Yahaba’s, but for a reason Yahaba can’t get a read on as to why, when finally, he clenches his fists, hidden in his pockets, and blurts out:

"I heard cracking your knuckles can cause arthritis."

Kyoutani opens his mouth, exhales; if it were winter, his breath would have been visible as a cloud of fog. "What?"

"Arthritis, it’s when your joint infl—"

"I know what arthritis is, God," Kyoutani says, sort of quietly, and licks his lips. Yahaba unconsciously follows the movement with his eyes, factually observing that Kyoutani’s lips don’t look dry, or cracked, or anything he expected them to be. Not that he ever gave thought to that.

Then Kyoutani laughs, still sort of quietly, and Yahaba takes it in wondrously, because he doesn’t think he’s ever really heard Kyoutani laugh. Smirk in restrained amusement, sure, even inhale quickly in an imitation of a noiseless chuckle, but that’s all there’s ever been.

What there is this time is corners of lips tugging up, teeth peeking in between lips just slightly, warm eyes and—wow, the wrinkle between his eyebrows is gone. That just might impress Yahaba the most.

He laughs along at that, a little louder, and Kyoutani’s gaze jumps to him immediately when he notices, just when he was probably about to go back to his usual constipated face expression, and something inside Yahaba chants _Don’tDon’tDon’tKeeplaughingPleasePlease,_ but he doesn’t bother paying any more attention to it than to any other irrational urge he gets throughout the day sometimes.

Three, five, eight minutes might have passed like that, in easy laughter – Yahaba relaxes so far that he forgets to hold back one of his typical snorts, and at that Kyoutani just _explodes_.

When he laughs, really laughs, not the hushed thing from before, it’s loud _._ It’s not one of those obnoxious laughs, not really a melodic one, either, but it’s contagious and Yahaba thinks he might laugh harder than Kyoutani who laughs for a reason. Yahaba is usually quite insecure about his snorting, but somehow, right now, the command to feel ashamed or even offended doesn’t make it to his brain, cut off by an overload of endorphins, probably.

It sticks, even when they stop losing their shit and continue the walk home, the distance between them cautiously smaller.

"It’s a myth," Kyoutani says, and it doesn’t take long for Yahaba to remember what he’s referring to.

"Is that so?" He asks, lifting his chin in dramatic disbelief, seeking out Kyoutani’s eyes. They do find his, when Kyoutani nods, lips in a fine line out of conviction.

"What really happens when you crack your fingers is that with the pressure that you apply to them, two surfaces of the joint slide apart." Yahaba looks scandalized, and Kyoutani bites his lip to seemingly hold back a chuckle, before continuing. "That, uh, in turn, reduces the pressure of the fluid inside and releases unnecessary gas bubbles."

"That’s what makes the sound then."

"That’s what makes the sound then," Kyoutani assures. "It’s actually a good thing, because it gives the joint of the finger you cracked a bigger range of motion, makes them easier to move and further."

"That’s actually… I didn’t know that," Yahaba admits.

Kyoutani nods.

"I still think the sound is awful, though," he murmurs, and this time, Kyoutani does that breathy inhale.

"I can, uh, not do it when you’re around?" Kyoutani offers. Yahaba blinks a couple times, watching his earnest eyes.

"It’s not that big of a deal," Yahaba says, then, nonchalantly, but Kyoutani just rolls his eyes.

It’s a weird thought, Kyoutani not doing something out of his own desire not to put Yahaba off, but the more he rolls it around on his tongue, the better it feels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A long while later, when they’re sitting in the room Yahaba grew up in, even though they both have their own university dorms now – holidays have started three days ago, and it was, surprisingly, Kyoutani’s decision to return to Miyagi for a bit, check up on Kindaichi and Kunimi and how they’re dealing with the new Seijoh – Yahaba finally asks Kyoutani that question.

"Why’d you do it?"

"Huh?" Kyoutani hums questioningly into Yahaba’s knee, turning on his side slowly, so that Yahaba wouldn’t dare stop running his fingers through his dark brown hair.

"Why you kept on walking home with me, when I became captain."

Yahaba expects an "Oh, that" or an "Ah, of course", but Kyoutani keeps quiet, only shuffles forward, pressing his nose against Yahaba’s cardigan-clad abdomen.

He gives him a bit of time, continuing to massage his skull, but eventually, the curiosity overweighs.

"Keeen," Yahaba whines.

"What’s it," Kyoutani murmurs, muffled.

"Just tell me."

"Nuh-uh."

Yahaba’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pressing into a line. He blinks to shake it off: he’ll leave the constipated expressions to Kyoutani.

"I can already think what it is, I just want to hear it," he offers casually. He just wants to hear Kyoutani say that he cared for their team as much as Yahaba did – maybe even more – and that maybe, it was the confrontation at the end of their second year that created that drive in him. Nothing more.

Kyoutani wiggles around until he’s lying flat on his back, head still supported by Yahaba’s knee, but instead of Yahaba being able to see his face, hands lie on it, fingers far apart to cover as much as possible.

"I was just kind of hoping that you’d, y’know…fall in love with me," he says then, which—holy shit. Has he—was he—since _then_ —how?

Yahaba knows Kyoutani well, though, knows when he can keep him waiting and knows when he needs to be reassured so that he won’t drift away – just like Kyoutani knows these things about him —, and so he tries to pry Kyoutani’s hands away, except he won’t let him.

Stubborn bastard, as always, Yahaba thinks fondly, as he bites into Kyoutani’s pointer finger.

"Ow, what the hell, you butth—"

But Yahaba got what he wanted, when Kyoutani reflexively tears his hands away from his mouth, letting Yahaba press their lips together.

Not what he asked for in the beginning, but definitely what he wanted.


	3. side b: bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "What’s going on," Kyoutani elaborates. He doesn’t feel helpful, but he can’t exactly tell him to pretend he’s a shrink or his diary or anything like that. Being laughed at is not at the top of things he’d like to experience at this moment.  
>  "What’s going on," Yahaba repeats with a sigh. He licks his lips, his pupils racing back and forth as if he’s trying to solve a difficult Math problem. "It smells like updog in here."  
> Kyoutani frowns, confused. "What’s updog?" 
> 
>   
>   
> this was literally just me going through with my long-time wish to make yahaba do the updog joke with kyoutani, coated in a layer of newly-estabilished-relationship-fluff. thank you so much to everyone who's read this short series! i do believe there will be some kyouhaba in my upcoming drabble collection, but you heard it here first. :D 

 

 

"Dipshit."

"Kyoutani."

Kyoutani suddenly gets an immense itch to crack his fingers, the ones hidden in the pockets of his coat for warmth – yes, Kyoutani Kentarou does wear coats… occasionally – but reminds himself not to. He is relatively sure Yahaba wouldn’t even mind that much, but no matter how much he hates to admit it, he’s eager to please his captain; eager to make a good impression, to charm a smile on his face, because he knows they have a lot of lost time to catch up on, now that both of them are being slightly less awful to each other.

Now that they’re dating.

How that happened, Kyoutani truly doesn’t know. It’s been an obvious end goal, but he never fully expected it to come true, what with him being the last person Yahaba would ever want to be in any way involved with. He just tried his best to get them to be friends, at least: walked home with him, initiated – awkward – conversation, offered favors and foods he’s observed Yahaba to enjoy.

He’s been fighting it, not that Kyoutani counted on him not to. Purposefully snapping at him in an attempt of intimidation; Yahaba isn’t cruel, but what Kyoutani did not expect was to become so sensitive to his unfriendly reactions.

He’s never wanted anyone to respect, let alone like him, but the incidents last year turned that around. Yahaba doesn’t usually act out, putting his individuality – that Kyoutani now knows he possesses – on display only when he deems it absolutely necessary. Still, he’s got a strong sense of his own principles and morals, knows how to fight for them, how to ensure people hear and understand them.

Most importantly, he’s tough, especially mentally – tougher than Kyoutani even, maybe – and Kyoutani is undeniably attracted to that strength, that untapped power underneath his skin.

Yahaba may act dramatic or even shallow at times, but it’s never particularly serious. It’s easy to assume the giant size of his ego, but Kyoutani is quite sure that’s not the case. He’s seen him around Kindaichi, all easy gossip and laughter of schadenfreude; around Kunimi, encouraging and supportive of his laid-back playing style; around the first years, ever the firm, but never unreasonably hostile captain with an unrelenting desire to teach and help.

No, Yahaba is in no way arrogant, even when he tilts his chin up, walking around with his nose held high. For all his theatrical antics, pretty-boy haircut and the way he holds himself up to the standard of their old senpai for whatever reason, even though he’s clearly great as he is – Yahaba is someone Kyoutani has reluctantly, but honestly come to admire, and once that came to light, the strange tension that existed between them ever since they stepped into each other’s lives through the club, merged with it and mutated into something akin to _want_.

Kyoutani doesn’t like to dwell on that too long, choosing to define it as simply enjoying Yahaba’s presence, but now that he sees the setter leaning against the school gate, snowflakes in his – in this lighting – completely grey hair, fog leaving his parted lips in small clouds, something thrums in his belly in short, quick waves, something that propels him forward faster than he usually would have been going home after class.

They haven’t exchanged schedules or done something else so couple-y, but if Kyoutani isn’t wrong, Yahaba’s last class finished forty minutes ago.

So he must have been… waiting for him.

Perhaps, a better greeting was in order, but he justifies it with being caught off-guard, seeing Yahaba hide his mouth and half of his nose in that giant, ugly, yellow scarf of his.

"You fall asleep, Ace?" Yahaba asks, then, when Kyoutani neither says anything nor moves from his spot anytime soon.

The feeling of déjà-vu isn’t lost on Kyoutani.

"No," he says. "Yours?"

"Sure," Yahaba agrees, and for the entirety of the walk, that’s it for the conversation; but the peaceful quiet and the nudging of elbows that leaves both of them blushy for a reason bigger than the cold more than makes up for it.

 

 

 

 

Yahaba’s house is nothing special, Kyoutani decides. He’s missing the homey feeling he’s enveloped into the second he steps into his own – sure, that might have something to do with his father being an interior architect – and the scent of food, his sister’s candles, something.

The long, bleak hallway never smells of anything but the cold.

Yahaba’s room is not so bad, though. It’s jam-full with all kinds of things, necessary, unnecessary, old, some with price tags still on, but it doesn’t feel claustrophobic, rather like a little private museum.

Maybe some girl Yahaba has taken here before insisted on being compared to an artwork when kissing him on the bed, but Kyoutani sure as hell won’t do that.

It’s a ridiculous thought, anyway. Kyoutani is not an expert on kissing, but he’s beginning to read Yahaba’s body language enough to recognize when he’s out of his comfort zone, but not in a way that causes him to be aggravated.

The wide eyes and spit-slick lips are a nice bonus, too.

But enough of that: today, something is a little different. Gone is the nonchalance Yahaba has adopted ever since they kissed for the second time, replaced by needy, almost, hands on the back of Kyoutani’s neck, pulling him closer, smashing their lips together harder. Kyoutani figures he’s just trying things out and lets him, lets him boldly put his leg on his thigh, almost nudging the back of it with his foot. But when after a few minutes or so Yahaba won’t let up, and Kyoutani kind of wants a break, anyway – they tell his mother they’re doing homework, and he knows Yahaba will be upset if they don’t get at least a little of it done, even though he’ll have to be reminded of that, first – so he pulls away.

What surprises him even more is that Yahaba immediately slides forward and reclaims his mouth without any sort of question in his eyes – they’re closed, actually – which is what they usually do for every time one of them intents a kiss, so as to not cross any boundaries or make each other unnecessarily uncomfortable.

"Yahaba, hey," Kyoutani calls while pulling away for the second time, before Yahaba can pull him into another kiss.

"Huh, what’s it, why—" Yahaba fumbles with his words, unable to finish his sentence, as though equally unable to comprehend why Kyoutani would refuse him. It’s untypical.

"Slow down or your lips are gonna start bleeding," Kyoutani jokes, making Yahaba whine.

"I’m just trying to unwind here, alright."

That—well. Kyoutani raises his eyebrows. If they’re gonna have to have the sex talk now, they’re gonna have it, though he personally wishes it would have happened later on.

"Not like that, jeez," Yahaba turns over, eyes stuck to the ceiling as his ears turn pink. "Just…"

"Tell me," Kyoutani says, quietly; it’s a little muffled by his hand, but he thinks Yahaba can hear well enough.

"Tell you what," he answers, sounding serious all of a sudden.

"What’s going on," Kyoutani elaborates. He doesn’t feel helpful, but he can’t exactly tell him to pretend he’s a shrink or his diary or anything like that. Being laughed at is not at the top of things he’d like to experience at this moment.

"What’s going on," Yahaba repeats with a sigh. He licks his lips, his pupils racing back and forth as if he’s trying to solve a difficult Math problem. "It smells like updog in here."

Kyoutani frowns, confused. "What’s updog?"

"Not much, dawg, what’s up with you?"

Yahaba tilts his head to watch Kyoutani’s reaction, biting his lip to hold back his giggles as it visibly takes the wing spiker a few moments to process that he’s been tricked with a _kindergarten joke_ , and full-out laughing once a murderous look settles on Kyoutani’s face.

"Butthole," Kyoutani murmurs, punching Yahaba in the side – it’s a weak punch, not even a third of his strength – but that only makes Yahaba laugh louder, because for some incomprehensible reason, Kyoutani simply refuses to say _asshole_ like any normal person would, even though he’s taken to call Yahaba _dipshit_ ever since second year started.

But this is what Kyoutani wanted. They might not be close enough to tell each other about their problems and worries yet, but he likes the joyous look on Yahaba’s face as he wipes tears from the corners of his eyes far more than the frustrated one, with the fluttering eyelids because he’s pressing them shut too tightly, the slight shaking of his hands, as though Kyoutani’s going to get away if he doesn’t hold on.

Something is a little different today, when Yahaba puts his head into the space between Kyoutani’s jaw and shoulder, a hand next to his ribs, stroking so softly that he barely feels it through the fabric of his gakuran.

But whatever it is, it will probably be better tomorrow.

And if it won’t – well, clearly an internet connection at home is made to search for bad jokes Kyoutani can purposefully set himself up for.


End file.
